


Peaceful, Tender Moments

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kisses, Reference to Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Erik joins Christine in her dressing room after she performs, as is his tradition, and she knows what to expect at these times.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from rjdaae which read: Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.

He joins her after she performs, as is his tradition. As is _her_ tradition she removes her costume with the help of her dressers, puts on her own dress, and hurries her dressers out. It is a system they have, one they have organised over the years. She hurries her dressers out, Erik slips through the mirror to join her, and he sits in the spare chair while she takes her make-up off. Sometimes he comments on the performance, though he often saves that for the morning after when she has had time to recover, and sometimes she mentions the gossip of the theatre, but usually they are silent, content to simply be together.

He always kisses her hair when he joins her, waiting until her make-up is off and she is ready to leave before kissing her properly, his lips ever-hesitant at seeking out hers though they have been loving each other for three wonderful years now. It is very nearly endearing, his determination to ensure her comfort before what he might want, though sometimes, she must confess, it does trouble her.

Tonight he joins her, and kisses her forehead as he always does, and settles in his chair. She watches him from the side of her eye as she takes off her make-up, the way he steeples his fingers, his eyelids drooping heavy. He is tired, of course. It has been three weeks since he slept well, first a composing frenzy, then his old nightmares making an appearance. He has refused morphine, on the grounds that he does not desire having lingering pain in his arm, and has refused laudanum, citing the weary exhaustion and illness that always follows it. If this persists must longer he will have to accept _something_ , and they both know that.

Christine pushes the thoughts out of her mind. They have no place in it just now. The show went marvellously, one of those rare nights when everything comes together according to the plan. And her husband is sitting beside her, looking satisfied through his tiredness. Perhaps tonight they will be fortunate. She will cradle him close, and smooth his hair, and sing soft lullabies to him. She can almost feel it now, the certainty that he will be able to rest.

If it were within her power to give him rest, to let him know peace, God knows that she would.

Her make-up removed, she stands and takes her heavy cloak from the back of the door, swirls it on and fastens it at her throat. He does not stir, seeming almost in a doze, and it seems a crime to wake him but wake him she must. How else can she get him safely home?

Still. She can always be gentle in her waking of him. No point in frightening him unnecessarily, not when his own mind is more than capable of doing that.

Gently she takes his left hand, and raises it to her lips, presses one soft kiss to it. He stirs slightly, and she squeezes his hand, kisses it again, then leans in and kisses his forehead, his lips. He whimpers into her mouth, and she kisses him again, his eyes fluttering.

“Come on, Erik, my love,” she murmurs, watching as his eyelids open to reveal his beautiful hazel irises, regarding her mistily, “time to go home.”


End file.
